


a study of love and desperation

by achelllies



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Domestic Violence, F/F, Sort of fluff at the end???, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-28
Updated: 2018-04-28
Packaged: 2019-04-29 00:24:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14461062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/achelllies/pseuds/achelllies
Summary: She’s choking.There are hands shaking her shoulders, hands shaking as limbs unfurl to reveal a broken body, a voice screaming out her name. She opens her mouth andI’m okayis just on the tip of her tongue— but lies aren’t reserved for the dying and blood only gurgles and spills from her lips. The glaring lights dim as her line of sight begins to cloud over with darkness and all she can hear isthat voiceand—Then, silence.





	a study of love and desperation

   She’s choking.

   There are hands shaking her shoulders, hands shaking as limbs unfurl to reveal a broken body, a voice screaming out her name. She opens her mouth and _I’m okay_ is just on the tip of her tongue— but lies aren’t reserved for the dying and blood only gurgles and spills from her lips. The glaring lights dim as her line of sight begins to cloud over with darkness and all she can hear is _that voice_ and—

 

Then, silence.

 

A new scene unfolds itself in front of her eyes.

 

   The din of light chatter fills her ears and the ballroom is warm, soft, and inviting. She scans the room.

   There was the Senator, who offered her a hundred thousand dollars if she would only keep her mouth shut, as she sat silent and bleeding in an office chair. He’s shaking that woman’s hand, and his smile glows dazzlingly like the stars embedded in the night sky, but all she can see is him sliding a contract across the table, threatening her with a libel suit if she didn’t keep her mouth shut.

   There was the police commissioner, who screamed something about little girls not knowing who they were messing with, spit flying in all directions as she threatened to tell the truth about the senator’s son. She took it, as she always did: indignant and mottled in all different shades of black, blue, and yellow. He’s dancing with his wife, eyes all lovely and sentimental as he remarks that this is the song that played at their wedding but when she looks at him, all she can hear are the screams that he will ruin her and the sound of his fist slamming on the table as he screams, yet again, to never come back to the precinct.

   There was the mayor, who only glanced at the black eye she was still nursing and her face filled with desperation apologetically, and said _there was nothing he could do._ He’s laughing now, a deep melodious sound, with his daughter, a pretty little wisp of a thing, but all she can feel is the wave of his pity washing over her, _choking her, drowning her_. “There is nothing I can do” crackles like a broken record in the back of her mind.

   And then there’s him.

   The senator’s son. He’s sipping on champagne, eyes gleaming, voice strong, and speech charismatic, just as charming as his father. He throws his head back in a fit of laughter and she sees the man she first met, who told her he would save her and Gav and Azelma from her father and who had a smile she could trust. He still smiles, still promises that he’s going to help Gav and Azelma, still tells her it could be worse, but the only thing she registers about him is his nails carelessly digging into ripe bruises, and _isn’t it ironic we’re all here to support a charity that wants to end domestic violence?_

   Then she sees her.

   She’s a vision floating in clouds of red chiffon, 3c curls falling sweetly around her shoulders. She introduces herself, asks _him_ if she could just steal her for a minute. Her arm sings with relief and her mind sings with _Cosette_.

   Black swims into her vision. The gurney jostles her weary body, speeding down a hallway to the tune of a paramedic screaming something about a tube. The harsh lights sear themselves across the back of her eyelids. The heart monitor shrieks it's terrified beat, and she falls unconscious once more.

 

She sees lights.

   They’re as harsh and unforgiving as the ones before. This time, she’s in a bathroom. She smells the sharp tang of isopropyl alcohol, feels the sting of it upon her cuts. Cosette’s head is bowed down, hands shaking as she attempts to wrap the gauze around the wound. Other than the occasional sniffle, it's quiet. Silence stifles her mind and her mouth. She slumps, defeated into Cosette's shoulder _God,_ she’s so fucking tired and she wants everything to be over.

Cosette’s throat clears.

“You _know_ what I’m going to say—”

She manages a loud noise of disapproval.

“I can help you just _please_ let me, I’ll help you—”

Her voice breaks through, a broken sound. 

_“I can’t.”_

 

She loves Cosette, she really does. But she’s tried to leave before, and he always finds her, and it always gets worse. She loves Cosette, but she loves herself more.

 

   Her body convulses violently against the stiff padding of the operating table. The crackle of electricity resounds across her skin, and the nurse announces with a shaky voice her heart is beating again. The heart monitor screeches alive, and darkness whisks her away.

 

She tried to leave anyway.

   She feels everything. She feels the unceasing assault of his kicks, colliding with her sides with the force of a million battering rams. She feels his wit, slashing at her with a hysterical voice and furious words. She feels her body turn into a garden blooming in the midst of spring, blood and bruises blossoming into the most morbid kinds of flowers, and his spit forming the morning dew in her little garden. She feels his arms shake her forcefully, screaming something angry about _Cosette_ . 

   The hands are yanked off her. She hears the sound of fist cracking bone. She smells the cloying scent of blood that is not her own. Cosette holds her body, sobbing, careful not to disturb any of her flowers in her garden. Cosette’s voice grows frantic. Her vision is clouded in darkness and she’s so sorry, she’s _so, so, sorry_ , but she’s tired and she can’t stop her eyes from closing but it’s okay, it’ll all be okay, because _Cosette’s here and she will be okay._

 

She wakes softly this time.

   Clean sheets caress her skin, unmarked. She hears the stern warning of a security guard standing sentinel at the door, telling the gaggle of reporters that “No, she is not fit for questions”, and “Yes, the senator’s son was involved.” She groans, waking blearily to tears of relief threatening to spill from Cosette’s eyes. 

“How are you feeling?” Cosette asks, mouth curling up into a shaky grin.

She can’t move, she's thirsty as hell, and she’s in so much fucking pain, but Cosette’s squeezing her hand and giving her another one of those sweet fucking smiles, and her heart's about to explode from how fucking  _in love_ she is.

“I’ll be okay.”

She smiles back.

**Author's Note:**

> tbh cannot believe I got up off my ass long enough to write this. my tumblr is www.achelllies.tumblr.com feel free to talk to me there!!! I love screaming about les mis with anyone!!! 
> 
> Domestic violence is fucking awful; here are some hotlines:  
> 1-800-799-SAFE (7233)  
> 1-800-787-3224 (TTY for Deaf/Hard of Hearing) for the National Domestic Violence Hotline 
> 
> I'm open to all types of feedback!!!!


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